


In Which Sam Begs a Favor and Dean is Confused and Horny

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam is going to his first boy-girl party, and begs a favor from Dean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** In Which Sam Begs a Favor and Dean is Confused and Horny  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** R   
**Word Count:** 3, 620  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** pre-series; PWP, underaged incest, mildly graphic m/m sexual situations  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Sam is going to his first boy-girl party, and begs a favor from Dean.  
**Notes:** I got this delightful prompt in my inbox from [ ](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[**wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/) yesterday, so what else could I do but write it?  
Lots of wet, lickery kisses to my darling love [ ](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/profile)[**rachel_shanz**](http://rachel-shanz.livejournal.com/) for the once-over.  
Oh! And because my friends apparently kick ass, I must pimp [[this delicious wallpaper]](http://img513.imageshack.us/img513/2125/winchester02qo6.jpg) made by [ ](http://lostt1.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lostt1.livejournal.com/)**lostt1** , which resulted in the inspiration for me actually sitting my ass down and writing this.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean heard it again - a heavy, drawn-out flutter of breath that sounded as if it held the weight of the entire world - and he brought the bottle of beer to his lips to hide a smile. He kept his gaze on the television although he’d stopped paying attention to the program the minute Sam had walked in, flopping himself down on the armchair across the room and brooding silently.  
  
Dean knew how this scenario went. Sam wanted, God forbid, Dean’s advice on _something_ , but if Dean just gave up and asked, he’d never find out what was bothering his likely-to-angst-over-everything teen brother. He’d do much better to let Sam come to him, which he would after he got done sighing and moping and worked up the damn nerve to ask whatever—  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Aha.   
  
Dean straightened a bit, still not meeting Sam’s gaze, but cocking a brow in question as he took another sip. Sam exhaled again, shifted in his seat, and then let out something resembling a moan, a sigh, and a laugh at the same time which Dean found pretty freaking impressive.  
  
“Oh, God, I _know_ I’m gonna regret this, but it’s kinda important and, well, there’s not really anyone else…”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sammy,” Dean deadpanned, slightly put out by Sam’s line of reasoning. Hell, what was he anyway? Chopped liver? And now Sam had him thinking in stupid cliches, and that was really just the end of it. "What the hell do you want, emo boy?"  
  
And now Sam was looking at him like an angry puppy dog, and Dean wanted to groan. His brother could play him like a fine-tuned instrument; he knew it, Dean knew it, and Dean fucking _hated_ it, but it wasn’t like he could do a damn thing about it. It was _Sam_ , and Sam got his way with Dean. Period. The end.  
  
“If you’re gonna be that way, just forget it.” But Sam didn’t try to get up, and Dean hadn’t expected him to. After all, this was the way it worked.  
  
Dean decided to just nip this in the bud – looked like ladies’ wrestling was about to start anyway – and stretched his feet out on the coffee table. “Look, I already know what’s up. I was there when you asked Dad about the party, wasn’t I? And now you wanna borrow my leather jacket to impress all the chicks.”  
  
“Right,” Sam looked relieved, slumping in his chair, and then stiffened and whipped his head around. “Wait, what?”  
  
“It ain’t happenin’,” Dean said, tossing back the rest of the beer and setting the bottle down before turning to face Sam. “You aren’t ready for the wonders that jacket can bring, bro. Now, maybe in a few years…”  
  
“Oh, fuck you, Dean.” And shit, now Sam was getting pissed and standing up, and Dean couldn’t help laughing a little as his brother shot him his patented bitch-face – which really just made him look like an even angrier puppy dog.  
  
Dean caught Sam’s arm as he tried to pass by, and struggled to bite back the chuckles when Sam jerked away like he’d been burned. “Jesus, I was just joking…chill the fuck out and tell me what’s up.”  
  
“You’re such an asshole. I don’t even know why I thought….I’m a freaking _idiot_ …” Sam cut himself off and heaved The Sigh of Emotional Turmoil again, and Dean’s lips twitched.  
  
“You need a ride or something? A hat? Party tricks?” He tried for a solemn tone; the kind a big brother would give his little brother on the eve of an important occasion like…oh, God. He couldn’t do it. Mirth bubbled up inside of him, and he finally gave in and clutched his stomach as Sam glared at him, hands on his hips and hair in his face.  
  
“I fucking hate you.”  
  
“You wish.”  
  
“Seriously, just forget it. You probably wouldn’t have been able to help anyway.” And with that challenge burning in his gaze, Sam spun around on his heel and started back to their bedroom. Dean sat in his chair, laughter draining away as a frown pulled his lips down.  
  
Goddamn the little bastard really _did_ know how to bait him.  
  
He forced himself to wait as long as he could before coming to his feet, then hovered outside of the door as he watched Sam rifle through the closet. Plaid shirt after button-down after plaid shirt after… “You’re gonna wear _that?_ ” he demanded when Sam’s fingers closed over a particularly boring black shirt that Dean remembered cringing over when Sam had purchased the damn thing during one of their runs to the city for supplies.  
  
“What are you, my fashion consultant?” Sam snarked, dragging off the ratty tee he’d been wearing and jerking the black one over his head. This afforded Dean with a good – and surprising – glimpse of his brother’s stomach, and his fingers clenched around the doorframe at the sight of the muscles decorating Sammy’s abdomen.  
  
Good God, since when did his baby brother have _muscles?_ Sam had always been lanky and skinny – save for that unfortunate time before puberty had kicked in and gotten rid of all the baby fat. Sam had never been, well, ripped. He operated more on speed and—  
  
“Quit staring at me. It’s not that bad,” Sam was huffing out, and Dean blinked, shifting his gaze up to find Sam watching him with a warning expression.  
  
“I, uh...” Dean shook his head, feeling slightly off-kilter. “No, it’s not that bad.” Then he frowned. “Wait, yes it is. That shirt _sucks_ , dude.”  
  
“What the hell sucks about it?”  
  
Dean opened his mouth to point out all of the obvious flaws about the clothing in question, but then he actually _looked_ and realized that with the sudden appearance of Sam’s, er, physique, the shirt no longer looked quite as awful. For whatever reason, it fit and clung in all the right ways and _fucking hell, what was his problem?_  
  
“Fine, wear whatever you want,” he grunted, already regretting having come after Sam. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but whatever it was definitely had to do with the weird gleam in Sam’s eye and the six-pack on his lower stomach. “So, since I guess you don’t really need me…”  
  
“Dean, wait.”  
  
Dean froze, something dangerous zinging through him like a live-wire. Somehow he knew if he stayed, something was going to happen, and he wasn’t quite sure if that _something_ would be good or bad. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to find out, either.  
  
And then Sam was pouting, shoving a hand through his hair and gifting Dean with the kind of pleading look that had used to grace his brother’s features quite often in their youth, but had recently been replaced with biting sarcasm and _I can do it on my own, Dean_ ’s. Dean was an expert at fielding the second two, and a total sucker for the first.  
  
“I really do need your help with something.” Sam was chewing his lips, shifting his weight from hip-to-hip and all but wringing his hands together. Dean’s anxiety reached new proportions the second his brother seemed to gather his courage and straightened to his full height, meeting Dean’s gaze head-on.   
  
“What is it, Sam?” He didn’t have to force the exasperation in his tone, and was doubly glad that it helped hide the nerves. And then he felt ridiculous for worrying because, really, how bad could it be? It was _Sam_ \- he probably just wanted to borrow a couple of bucks and was angsting over it because that was what Sam did, and—  
  
“It’s kissing.”  
  
Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt like tires on asphalt. “Come again?”  
  
Sam licked his lips, looking everywhere but at Dean as he mumbled, “It’s just, you know…people are gonna be there…”  
  
“Uh, yeah, that would be the definition of a party, Sam.”  
  
“God, I knew you were gonna make this difficult!” Sam was frustrated and upset, and at any other time Dean might’ve gotten a kick out of watching his sixteen year old brother throw a temper tantrum like a toddler, but with the memory of Sam’s words and his freaking _abs_ still fresh in his mind, Dean just remained silent and stared. “Can you please stop looking like you’re about to shoot me with rock salt?” Sam growled.  
  
The thought had kinda crossed his mind. But Dean just laughed, hesitantly, and inched closer to the door. “So, uh, kissing. And you need me because…?”  
  
Sam suddenly looked way too world-weary and old for his age, and the abrupt change threw Dean off a bit as Sam fell back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Damn it, Dean. You know I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m barely allowed to go to _school_ , much less actually hang out like a normal person.”  
  
“Then why do you even want to go?”  
  
Sam sat up on his elbows, and the movement did interesting things to the damned black shirt. Dean refused to think about that, though. Sam blew his bangs out of his face and sent Dean an unreadable look. “Don’t be a dick, Dean.”  
  
Dean felt like pulling out his own hair. “Okay, so lemme see if I got this straight. You’re going to a party, where _people_ might be, and you gotta make sure you know how to kiss ‘em?”  
  
“Yeah, thanks for understanding.” Sam rolled over to face the window. Dean could read the tension in his body, and realized he’d officially become the world’s worst big brother. His head fell back against the wall, and then he was walking over to sit beside Sam.  
  
Neither spoke for a long moment, and then Dean ventured carefully, “What, you need to learn how to kiss, Sam?”  
  
“Like I’d even bother explaining it to _you_.” Sam’s voice was muffled by the pillow and it took Dean a few seconds to understand what he was saying, and then he reached over and gripped Sam by his hair and yanked. Sam came flying up with a violent oath on his lips, swinging at Dean.  
  
Dean laughed and ducked, and this… _this_ he knew. This he could handle. He grabbed Sam around the waist and bodily forced his younger brother to the mattress, flipping him onto his back and hovering over him as Sam panted furiously. “Ya give, or you gonna cry like a little bitch?”  
  
“Get the fuck off me.”  
  
“Lesson number one: dirty talking gets you everywhere.” Dean smirked, coming to his knees and sitting on Sam’s legs so he couldn’t move. “All right. So, explain.”  
  
“Jackass. You weigh a fucking ton.”  
  
“Not moving ‘til you explain, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s lips twisted, and then he cursed softly. “Yeah, fine, I could use a few tips or whatever.”  
  
Dean’s hands went clammy and he wiped them on his jeans, even though he’d pretty much been expecting just that response from Sam. And then he was pissed at himself, because what was the big deal? Hell, he’d been the one to teach Sam about everything else…why _not_ kissing? It was a pretty valuable skill to have – not like weaponry or Latin incantations (which Dean wasn’t all that good at, anyway) – but it served its purpose. Served it nicely.  
  
He could totally do this. He just needed to stop staring at Sam’s mouth.  
  
“Okay, um, first you pucker your lips.”  
  
Sam blinked his long lashes, and then he punched Dean in the shoulder so hard that Dean nearly fell off the bed. “You asshole.”  
  
“What?” Dean righted himself, peeved and embarrassed and, fuck, why was this so much harder than teaching Sammy how to aim a crossbow?  
  
“Damn it, Dean, I just want some help on _technique_ ,” Sam growled, face flushed and eyes averted. “I mean, I figured since God knows you’ve made out with everything in the tri-county area—”  
  
“Aw, hell…”  
  
“—maybe you could help me out here,” Sam finished, sounding just as nervous and awkward as Dean felt. His brother was doing his best not to look at him again, and suddenly that seemed like the most important thing for Dean to accomplish.  
  
“Okay, Sam.”  
  
Sure enough, Sam’s eyes snapped up to his face and his lips pursed just slightly on a breath of air. “Okay?”  
  
Dean managed a grin, reaching over and jerking the pillow out from under Sam’s head. “Here. Show me what you’re working with.”  
  
Sam was starting to look angry again, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Dude, I am _not_ making out with my pillow!”  
  
Yeah, okay, that was understandable. Still… “Well, I’m not making out with my hand to fucking show you, Sammy. So how the hell _are_ we supposed to do this?”  
  
Sam’s breath caught and he immediately looked away, bottom lip between his teeth and pink highlighting his cheeks. Dean’s words echoed in the silent room until he felt the tips of his ears go red, and he became unexpectedly aware of the position they were in. Everything inside of him screamed for him to run, run, run away, but he was frozen in place and staring down at Sam’s averted features with a vague sense of dread. And something else he was too afraid to put a name to.  
  
“Oh, Christ, Sam,” he choked out, and started to get off of his brother before either of them noticed the fact that he was half-hard. An odd buzz filled his ears, limbs feeling heavy and thick, and the feeling was not dissimilar to when he’d had too much to drink.   
  
Sam’s hands fell to his hips, surprising in their strength as he held Dean still. Dean looked down into his brother’s too-wide eyes and then Sam whispered, “Dean…I won’t tell.”  
  
And yeah, his heart nearly punched its way out of his chest. Dean forced out a laugh that neared hysteria, and closed his fingers over Sam’s. “I uh, I don’t know what you’re thinking here, Sammy, but…”  
  
“Please, Dean.” And he was back to the Sam that Dean knew, that Dean put before anyone and everything, and how the fuck was he supposed to deny Sammy anything he wanted? Even if it was—  
  
“No,” he bit off, pulse thundering as he squeezed and forced Sam’s fingers away from his middle. “ _No_. We’re not doing this.” He didn’t care if he sounded freaked the fuck out, because he _was_. Even more so, because his body was apparently totally willing to get down with whatever Sam’s mind was currently cooking up. His dick was straining against the seam of his jeans, and thoughts of the muscled flesh beneath Sam’s fugly shirt were wreaking havoc on him, and—  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“No,” he added again, weakly, for extra emphasis. They stared at one another, and then Dean said, “Pillow or nothing, Sam.”  
  
“God, what are you so scared of?” Sam bit off, fingers clenching against Dean’s. “I just want you to—”  
  
“You don’t know what you want.” And Dean didn’t, either. Or maybe he did. But that didn’t really help the situation.  
  
“You’re a fucking jerk. Get off me.” And then Sam was shoving at _him_ , and Dean’s first instinct was not to give in. To wrap himself around Sam and force his younger brother to concede to who was the biggest, the baddest. Unfortunately, this ended with him pressed all along Sam’s length, both breathing harshly from the aftermath of the impromptu wrestling match.  
  
Something shifted in Sam’s gaze and his tongue came out to wet his lips, and Dean’s body leapt to life. He shifted his hips, finding Sam everywhere he moved, and ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that was jumping up and down and shouting _this is fucked UP, Dean_.  
  
“So, you gonna help me or not?” Sam asked, and fuck if his voice wasn’t as ragged and thick with the same desperation Dean felt.  
  
And really, there was only one thing to say. “Shut up and open your mouth.”  
  
Sam didn’t even bother to remark on the contradiction of his request; just parted his lips, lids falling as Dean drew closer. Dean hesitated, hovering above Sam’s lips, and then he squeezed his eyes shut and closed the distance, capturing his brother’s mouth with his own.  
  
His first thought was _Huh. Sam tastes like strawberry licorice_ , immediately followed by _I am so going to hell for this._ Funny how that didn’t seem to matter all that much. He opened his mouth a little more, twisting his neck, teasing Sam’s lips wider, and Sam made a soft sound and moved under him. Dean responded in kind, slowly rolling his hips back and forth over Sam’s lap, grinding against his brother’s dick with his own.  
  
Yeah, there was a special place in hell with his name on it. Dean Winchester – Baby Brother Humper.   
  
“Dean,” Sam choked out, and Dean realized he’d sunk his teeth into the fullness of Sam’s bottom lip and was tugging. He immediately let go and reared back, breath coming fast and shallow. He lifted a shaky hand and wiped his mouth, unable to drag his gaze away from the glazed look in Sam’s eyes.  
  
“Uh…heh…Sammy, I think you got the hang of it.”  
  
“I know I do.” There was something playful in Sam’s tone, a small smirk curling his lips, but Dean was concentrating too hard on the ache in his dick to pay attention. He blew out a breath, frustrated and horny and confused.   
  
“Then what…oh.” He finally caught onto Sam’s pointed stare and blinked, repeating with more stress, “ _Oh_.”  
  
“Shut up and open your mouth,” Sam blurted out Dean’s previous demand, flushing a little even as he tilted up his chin in offering. He was practically trembling, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was from the idea that Dean might reject him – which, God, he wished that was even an option – or if it was just the same adrenaline currently shooting through his own veins.  
  
“I don’t think so, Sam,” Dean forced the out, despite the fact that Sam’s features fell and he looked up at Dean in something akin to betrayal. Dean lowered his head and buried it in the crook of Sam’s neck, whispering, “Just…let me set the pace, okay?”  
  
Sam’s subsequent nod was so jerky that he nearly caught Dean in the eye, and Dean pulled back with a hiss. Holding Sam’s gaze, he reached down between them for the button to Sam’s jeans. Sam’s lips parted, his lashes fluttered, and then he was arching up into Dean’s hand and babbling incoherently.  
  
“God, _yes yes yes_ , Dean, _please_ …”  
  
“Christ, shut up,” Dean grumbled without any real heat, fingers working quickly and proficiently until he had the weight of Sam hot and heavy in his palm. He shuddered a bit, mixed feelings churning inside of his stomach, but tamped down everything but the pleasure that was tearing across Sam’s features and stroked once.  
  
Sam almost bucked him off in reaction, and Dean settled more of his weight across Sam’s lap, sitting up a bit and keeping his fingers wrapped firmly around Sam’s cock. He stroked again, adding a small sweep of his thumb that he knew he enjoyed himself, and couldn’t quite keep the grin from twitching his lips when Sam breathed out a particularly dirty curse.  
  
“Jeez, where ya hear that one, Sammy?”  
  
“Fuck…you…” And then, Sam’s hand was pressed up against _his_ cock, and Dean just about swallowed his tongue when Sam lifted his head and sent him a look that his little brother shouldn’t have been able to master until he was twenty-five. “Does that feel good?” Sam asked softly, wonderingly, and Dean could only groan at his hopeful expression.  
  
He managed a guttural sound of affirmation; and then Sam was jerking at his zipper in near-desperation to get his hands inside Dean’s pants. Dean spread his legs a little, biting down on his lip as he stroked Sam faster, watching the stretch of Sam’s fingers as he reached in and…  
  
_Sweet God._   
  
“Should I stop?” Sam’s worried tone penetrated through the sexual haze, and Dean realized he’d spoken the words out loud. Or more precisely, bitten them off like he was dying. Sam’s fingers stilled, and Dean groaned out loud again. “Dean?”  
  
“Don’t stop,” he choked out, even as his hand came over Sam’s and then he was kissing Sam again, deep wet strokes of his tongue, and he ground his hips down in short, frantic bursts. Sam gasped into his mouth, bucking up as he ran his hands up and down Dean’s back, down his hips, across his ass…  
  
“Sammy…fuck…” He threw his neck back, teeth drawing blood, and then he was coming around the echo of his brother’s name on his lips. He could hear Sam beneath him, felt the warm splash against the hem of his shirt.   
  
Seconds, minutes, hours later…Dean lost track…he felt Sam prodding at him with his knee. Dean grunted, shifting over onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. All he could think to say was “Goddamn, Sam.”  
  
The mattress shifted, and then, “You’re not gonna freak out on me, are you?”  
  
Dean peeked through his arm to find Sam on his side, pants still undone and watching him with unreadable features. Dean could only grin, even though he knew they needed to have a serious talk about what had just happened. And what _could_ happen, and the sooner the better. But for now…  
  
“Nah. But you know...”  
  
Sam’s expression was half-worried, half-suspicious when he drawled out, “What…?”  
  
“You still can’t borrow my leather jacket.”  
  
When Sam dove for him, Dean was ready.


End file.
